


The Man From The Moon

by AvocadoLove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arc Reactor, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 2, M/M, Palladium Poisoning, Pre-Iron Man 2, Soulmates, Time Travel, Tony Stark Has A Heart, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: Steve Rogers has been waiting for twenty-five years for his soulmate's name to appear on his wrist. He never expected it to happen right before his soulmate fell out of the clear blue sky in the middle of Brooklyn.(Written for the Stony Auction - Updated Monday's)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All thanks and kudos for this fic go to Royal Chandler, who not only provided a generous donation during the Stony Trumps Hate auction to commission the fic, but has been a great sport about the time it's taken. (There's not a time frame on the auction, but no one including myself expected it to take this long.)

Steve slowly trudged home. The paper stamped 4F in big red lettering felt like it was burning a hole in his breast pocket.

He had been _so_ sure they'd take him this time. Yes, he was small and skinny and had more conditions than the Army doctor could shake a stick at, but his wrist was blank of a name. Since Steve had no soulmate to come home to, it stood to reason he would be kicked to the front lines. Not that Steve was eager to die, but for the first time in his life his shame meant he could be put in a position to help.

But even a blank wrist couldn't overcome the asthma. Or the high blood pressure. Or his bum liver. Or the heart. 

His bad ear and the color blindness hadn't helped, either.

As he walked, hands shoved in his pockets, Steve kicked an errant can down the road. It clattered in a nearby alley.

 _Probably should collect it_ , he thought distantly. _They could use it for the war effort._

What if collecting scrap was the only way he would ever be able to help?

 _No._ Steve shook his head, anger pinching his lips together. Bucky had headed off to boot camp a few weeks ago. Steve had promised himself that he wouldn't leave his friend behind in war. He'd never spoken the words out loud, but Steve meant to keep that promise.

Turning, he walked across the street to the end of the pier, coughing occasionally. The cool breeze coming off the river made it easier to breathe.

 _I'll give it a few days, let things cool down_ , he told himself. _Then I can try again at a different recruitment center. They got lots of different faces coming in and out. No one would recognize me—_

Two things happened at the exact same time.

The skin on Steve's right forearm burned so suddenly he yelped and looked down, expecting to see hives erupting. Had he had eaten something bad—something he was allergic to? 

Instead, to his amazement, black ink-like lines crawled over his skin.

He touched it carefully, hardly believing. The soul name was supposed to come in when your life partner was born.

Steve had been waiting twenty-five years.

For a moment, he was too stunned to feel anything but shock. Within seconds the lines coalesced to reveal a name.

 **Tony Stark** , with the S exaggerated to underline the first name.

Steve stared. His soulmate had just been born. Just took his first breath.

Then, a flash of lightning lit the clear blue sky. Something streaked down. A falling meteor? No. Was it an attack? Some of the papers printed half-hysterical reports of U-boats spotted off the coast of Delaware. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, Steve could believe anything.

One hand still covering his burning forearm, he watched the streak of red fall, almost straight overhead past him and into an ally. It hit with a crash that shook the pier under his feet.

People screamed, women on errands scattered, hauling their children behind them. There weren't many men to take care of the trouble—most anyone with an able body was off fighting the war by now.

Steve’s soulmate was alive out there somewhere, and Steve was going to protect him.

He rushed forward, his lungs hitching, down two streets and jinked to the right. He'd lost sight of the falling object as it landed behind a building. 

He belatedly realized it was the same ally he'd kicked a can in a few minutes before.

There, he nearly collided with a man rushing out, looking half-panicked. One spread hand clutched to his chest and wheezing.

"Hey, mister, you see where it landed?" Steve asked as he came to the man's side. He paused, staring. “You hurt?"

The man seemed to have a hard time catching his breath. He waved Steve off... but he was dressed oddly in blue jeans that had a strange cut, and a close-fitting T-shirt with an artistic design. 

"Here," Steve said, reaching for the red suitcase the man was holding. "Sit down, I'll take that—”

"No," the man gasped and pulled it closer. "Where?"

"Where'd it crash? That's what I was about to ask you.”

"No, where am I?"

 _What?_ Steve thought, but the answer was automatic. "Brooklyn, of course." The man must have really been knocked for a loop. "East side docks."

Steve glanced back at the ally. It was too dim to see to the end but there was no smoke rising up. Nothing seemed blasted.

Just then two police officers skidded around the corner, batons upraised.

"You fellas catch sight of a falling object?"

Steve nodded and pointed, and the two officers rushed forward without another word.

The man with the red suitcase stared at them with an expression of pure shock on his face. Like he'd never seen a man in uniform before. Then he started laughing.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"Nothing... Just done the impossible again." He looked around with eyes had had a strange glint in them, a little too wild-eyed for Steve's comfort.

"I think you should sit down. Here." Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulled out a tin off cigarettes and offered them over.

The man didn't take one. He had an odd smile on his face, too sharp. "Those’ll kill you, you know."

“No, these are asthma cigarettes, they're fine. My doctor prescribed them."

The man snorted like Steve had made a joke. "What's your name, kid?"

"Steve Rogers."

Suddenly, the man was no longer smiling. He startled so badly Steve reached out to straighten him. The man lurched away, standing. "That's impossible."

Before Steve could ask what was impossible, the man unwound the cuff around his wrist with shaking fingers.

Steve stared down at his own name, written in his own handwriting. 

"But..."

The man… he could only be Tony Stark (and he was definitely _not_ born a few minutes ago) said, “Guess this makes two impossible things before noon."

Steve looked into his soulmate’s brown eyes. "Come up to my apartment."

"Yeah." Tony gave a jerky nod of his head. "All right."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement! I hope this answers a few questions which were brought up...

The kid—scratch that—Steve—No, Tony’s soulmate from the past, because this was his life now—led him across a few streets. Meanwhile, Tony tried not to boggle like a tourist.

He had always been more of a Manhattan man than a Brooklyn man, having missed the boat on chic glasses and man buns, but this was Brooklyn before the advent of hipsters. Gritty and blue collar, and everything that Tony Stark wasn’t. If the newspaper he passed was to be believed, this was Brooklyn circa 1941.

 _I’m older than Howard_ , he thought and had to practically press down a hysterical giggle. The effort caused his chest to burn. To be fair, _everything_ caused his chest to burn. The shortness of breath, also a constant companion, didn’t help.

So. 1941. His father should be in Los Alamos right now… or not. This was about the time he got cozy with the government, working on the first top secret government contracts that would propel Stark Industries to the top.

If Howard was to be believed, he had also been part of a super soldier program. The original rebirth that would give the war effort Captain America. 

Even seventy years later, the details of the Rebirth Program were hush-hush. Tony had tried looking into them, had even directed Pepper to request files under the Freedom Of Information Act. He’d found no joy, and other things (being taken captive in Afghanistan) had occupied Tony's attention. Then the search for a new element, the lab explosion that had brought blasted him back to the past... 

Tony resisted the urge to pull out his blood poisoning meter. It was becoming a compulsion to check his toxicity levels, and that… would be hard to explain.

Instead, he focused on Steve—his soulmate.

How many hours, days, _years_ had Tony spent looking at the same on his arm, wondering who Steve Rogers was? Why he had never contacted him? Tony had been famous before he graduated grammar school, and Steve's name had been inked on his arm from the moment he’d been born, which indicated his soulmate was born first. 

Turns out, Steve really was born first. 

He was a lithe man, skinny and small, built like a jockey. If Tony were a kind man, he’d say there was strength in Steve's frail body, but from the slight wheeze he heard, he didn’t think so. (Then again, Tony wasn’t doing so hot himself.) No, the strength was in his eyes-- blue eyes that had taken Tony’s breath away. A force of personality that had Steve recovered from seeing a metal man drop out of the sky, then invite that same man to his apartment.

Steve took rickety wooden steps to the second floor. The wheeze intensified, and Steve gamely tried covering it with a cough that fooled no one as he fished for his key.

Tony tried to ignore his own laboring heart as he set down the suitcase which contained the armor. 

“Look at us,” he said, knowing that his cheeks were high with color just from that brisk walk. “We’re one hell of a pair.”

Steve shot him a sour look that turned rueful. Yeah, that little cough hadn’t fooled anyone. He either had a bad case of asthma, or tuberculosis. This was mid-century medicine, after all.

Tony had a bad feeling he knew why Steve Rogers had never tried contacting him in the new millennium. 

Closing the front door behind him, Steve turned and looked at Tony.

“Let me see it,” Steve said.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “You should buy a man a cup of coffee at least, Rogers.”

Steve blinked then flushed fetchingly. “I meant, your mark.”

Tony knew what he meant. He thought about needling a little more—he was his soulmate, he should be able to stand a little poking—but exhaustion and the reality of his situation crashed down on him, making him feel unexpectedly drained.

_It's the universe's biggest joke: I've finally found Steve when I'm at death's door._

So, for once Tony Stark kept his mouth shut and again unlaced the cuff again.

Steve inhaled sharply as his own signature came into view. The skin on Tony’s arm was lighter—he’d had it permanently under cover just like most people. Steve took a step forward, then hesitated.

“You don’t have a cuff,” Tony said, noticing for the first time. “That’s brave of you, with a man’s name.” Especially in early century New York.

“Up until a half hour ago, my wrist was blank,” Steve replied wryly. “Thought you were just born, 'til you fell out of the sky.”

 _He’s half guessing_ , Tony realized. It was strange. They hadn’t even touched, hadn’t even properly introduced themselves, and he read Steve’s expressions like he was an open book. 

Not good. Not when Tony had so much to hide.

“Yeah, well—" The best defense was a good offense, and Tony knew how to bluster to hide what he didn’t want to talk about. (And the fact that he was from the future was fraught with things he didn’t want to talk about. Not even with his own soulmate.) Luckily, he had a ready-built excuse thanks to Howard. “I’d rather you didn’t spread that around. You can say I'm working on a government project. It's very hush-hush.”

Steve’s blue eyes widened slightly. “Were you riding around on a rocket?"

“More like a personal transportation device.” Tony felt an actual chill, as if his body were punishing him for the lie to his soulmate. To cover it, he stuck out his hand. “Tony Stark. Inventor, philanthropist, and occasional government contractor.” That, at least, was not a falsehood.

Steve hesitated, nibbling on his lower lip. “Steve Rogers. I… I’m an artist, though I’m hoping to enlist,” he added boldly, then took Tony’s hand in his.

The moment they touched, a warm current shot up Tony's arm. Like two circuits connecting for the first time.

Tony took a sharp breath, and Steve’s mouth parted a little. Neither let go their grip.

“It’s good to meet you,” Tony said, voice cracking, “finally.”

Steve blinked. “How is this possible? Why hasn't your name shown up on my wrist before now? You—you’re older than me.”

_Not really._

“Maybe because I’m new in town,” Tony said lightly.

Something in Steve’s eyes darkened. “You’re lying.”

Tony yanked his hand away. He felt cold, drained for a moment. He realized while he had been touching Steve there had been no burning sensation in his chest. It was as if the palladium poisoning hadn’t touched him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Drink? You have something to drink around here, right?” He looked around the apartment and wondered suddenly if it had` running water. 

Steve gave him a narrow-eyed look, but turned and fetched a glass to fill from the sink. The tap worked, though the knocking sounds through the pipes weren’t encouraging. 

While Steve was turned trying to coax the rattly old sink into spouting water, Tony reached into his pocket and withdrew his blood toxicity meter. With the ease of long practice, he pricked his finger and waited for the results.

**Blood Toxicity - 50%**

Tony let out a breath of air like he’d been punched. He quickly stowed the meter away before Steve returned, glass in hand. But the tightness in his chest held a new, ominous meaning. His toxicity had jumped twelve percent with this little adventure alone.

"Here you go," Steve said, acting the reluctant host as he pushed the glass to him. There was a world of questions in his eyes.

Tony couldn't take it. He looked away as he took the glass, jumping again when Steve’s fingers brushed against his own. The warm current sang through his veins. He covered the motion by drumming his fingers of his free hand on the table. “I… there are things I can’t tell you. Classified.”

Steve had the same look in his eye Rhodey had grown to develop. Like he could already see past Tony’s bullshit, even though they had known each other fifteen minutes.

“I can keep my mouth shut,” Steve said, lips pinching. “Lawyers can’t compel bonded couples to testify against one another.”

 _Bonded._ The word struck through Tony like a drum. No, more than that. Like it was an actual rope, squeezing his heart. 

He was stuck decades in the past, without his workshop, his modern technology, or a snowball's chance in hell at "solving the riddle of his heart" as Fury called it.

He set down the glass. Took a deep breath. “This isn't a good idea.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “What isn’t?”

“You. Me. Just… do yourself a favor and forget all of this. You have the wrong Tony Stark.”

Tony turned, grabbing the armor suitcase—when had it got so heavy?—and made for the door. He was stopped by Steve’s hand over his. 

“The hell I do. You can’t run from this, from—” He stopped, his fingers tightening around Tony’s wrist. His voice grew sharp. “What’s wrong with your chest?”

Tony ripped his arm away, even though he knew it was too late. A wave of chilly cold stole up through him

“Don’t—“ The closer they were, the stronger a newly forged soul bond became. Right now, they had nothing between them other then the words written on their wrists. That would change as they grew physically and emotionally closer. As they _bonded_.

And soon, one way or another, Tony was going to leave Steve.

Blood toxicity of fifty percent. Halfway to death. 

The feeling in Tony’s chest tightened. He really couldn’t draw in a full breath, now. Sweat beaded his forehead and an unpleasant tingle shot up his left arm.

“Don’t—" Tony repeated, lurching away, half-stumbling because the armor suitcase was too heavy. It fell with a thump to the floor.

Steve stared, shocked. “Are you having a fit?” 

The sound Tony made was halfway between a disbelieving laugh and a cough. He knelt to cover that his legs were too wobbly to hold him, fumbling at the suitcase locks. 

Then Steve was there again, moving his hands out of the way. “Here. Let me help.”

“You really don’t want to see this.” _It will blow your nineteen forties mind…_

“My Ma was a nurse. You look like you’re on the verge of a heart attack… or you’ve got a craving. What is it? Alcohol? Morphine?”

Tony fell back, lips parted. Steve was beautiful in his anger—blue eyes flashing. There was a strength in him that wasn’t immediately apparent. Tony wondered what he would be like in bed.

 _And he’s mine,_ he thought for the first time with wonder.

“Well?” Steve snapped.

The anger from his own soulmate was enough to shock Tony into truth. “Palladium.”

Again, Steve’s brows knit. “What?”

“I told you. Classified.” And not exactly available in the corner market, even if Tony was in the correct decade. 

Brushing aside Steve’s hands, he pressed his thumb on the biosensor which activated the suitcase. He didn’t reach to the hidden catch which would unfold the suit, but one of the inner pockets. 

“You really shouldn’t see this,” Tony repeated in regret as he pulled one of the spare palladium cores.

“What—" Steve stopped, eyes wide as Tony hooked his shirt over his chin to show the arc reactor in all its glory. He stared.

Tony took two quick breaths—partially to oxygenate his system because this was not going to make his heart happy, partially to brace himself—then he twisted the casing of the reactor.

It came free, the old reactor smoking. Immediately, Tony’s heart pounded and his vision became unfocused, tunneling dark at the edges. Not a good sign.

He managed to pull to old core out and toss it aside, but fumbled as he inserted the new one.

Then, again, Steve’s was there, helping. His nimble, deft fingers slid the new core in and tangled with Tony’s as he reinserted the reactor.

Tony gasped as he twisted the casing closed. There was a jolt of pain, but mostly it was the relief as his heart started to beat normally.

Exhaustion swept over him, sudden and blinding.

 _Am I dying?_ He wondered, sinking back, barely aware of Steve catching him.  _Or am I just safe?_

 _Safe._ If he was, it would be for the first time since Afghanistan. Before, even. His body realized he was in the presence of his soulmate, and he was protected.

Tony slid into oblivion, fainting away then and there, while Steve shook his shoulder and frantically called his name.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Tony!” Steve shook the fallen man’s shoulder, but got not response. His soulmate was out like a light.

Cautiously, Steve placed a hand on Tony’s chest and felt the rise and fall of his breath. Still breathing, then. Steve could feel a slight vibration in accompaniment to his heartbeat—that strange blue glowing device, no doubt.

Steve sat back on his heels, letting out a shaking breath.

Calling a doctor was out. Even if Tony didn’t have top secret gadgets with him, Steve was well aware he had to be careful, now. It wasn’t necessarily common for doctors to report male-bonded soulmates, anymore. Even if the laws were still on the books, no one followed them like they would elsewhere, but they still might outright refuse to treat Tony.

An unexpected surge of protectiveness swept through Steve at that thought.

If anyone planned on treating Tony poorly, they’d have to go through Steve, first.

Though the fact of it was that Steve couldn’t move Tony—wasn’t sure if moving him was a good idea, though laying on the stone cold floor would’ve given his Ma fits. 

Steve compromised by pulling his thickest quilt from the bed and draping it over Tony’s body. Then he hide away the strange suitcase in the broom closet (it was shockingly heavy—felt like it was made of steel all through) and, with a grimace, placed the still smoking insert into the trash bin outside. 

That thing had been inside of him. The smoke had a bitter tang that Steve wasn’t sure was good to breathe in, and it had been _burning_ inside Tony. That was probably the reason for the odd trail marks of purple Steve had seen leading from the chest piece to his neck. 

Finally, feeling more guilty with every second, Steve searched Tony’s jacket pockets. All was fair in love and war, and Tony had been less than forthcoming about what kind of secret government project he was working on. Maybe if Steve could drop a word to his superiors, he could get help…

No luck. Tony didn’t carry a wallet or seem to have a penny to his name. 

It was odd. Vexed, Steve sat by him again, reaching out to brush Tony’s dark hair away from his face. All of his instincts screamed that something was off—more than government projects, a soulmate appearing out of nowhere, falling from the sky like he were an angel of old. 

Steve wasn’t an idiot. A lot of things weren’t adding up, and—

There was a knock on the door.

 _That’ll be Misses Abernathy_ , Steve thought, in no hurry to rise. His elderly neighbor could be nosy at the best of times and had probably waited until all the thumping and voices had quieted down to pay Steve a little visit. Even if Steve could explain Tony’s presence away, he was in no mood to entertain her. 

Then Steve heard a key scraping in the lock. He jumped to his feet just as the door swung open.

There was Bucky, fresh in his dress uniform, his cap tilted jauntily on his head. “Hey Stevie,” he said warmly. “I was hoping to surprise you when I came home—” He stopped as he caught sight of Tony. “Who in the hell is this?”

Steve only stared blankly at him, his mind reeling from too much shock and surprise for one day. There hadn't been a space of an hour that he hadn't thought about Bucky in one way or another since he left for boot camp. A guilty part of Steve suspected that he was mooning for his friend, though it would take screws on his thumbs to admit it.  Now, Bucky was finally returned, and Steve looked at him and felt… nothing. Nothing other than the usual friendship.

Well if that didn't confirm that Tony was his soulmate, nothing did.

"Stevie?" Bucky asked stepping in and closing the door hurriedly behind him. "Are you in some sort of trouble?” He stopped, his eyes flicking to the name now visible on Steve's arm. Guiltily, Steve hid his arm behind his back, but the damage had been done.  
Bucky's eyes widened almost comically large. "Steve?"

"It's not what it looks like," Steve said knowing that it was a lie. This was exactly what it looked like, and more.

There was one terrible, crystalline moment where Bucky simply stared at him. Bucky, who's own wrist had always been as blank as Steve’s. Now, he knew the truth. Steve’s soulmate was a man.

"All right," Bucky said slowly as if tasting the word. "All right, Stevie. Whatever you say, but…” Again his eyes flicked to the unconscious Tony. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

Pure relief swept through Steve so sharp he felt his eyes began to burn. Bucky didn't think less of him. Not for this. "I… no. Tony collapsed, he's been feeling off." The lie came quick to his tongue. Steve wasn’t ready to blab Tony’s secrets… especially as he wasn’t sure what they were.

“Let’s get him off the floor.” Bucky bent and helped Steve lift the uncontentious man to the couch. Some of the color had returned to Tony's cheeks, though he was dead to the world.

"What's wrong with him?" Bucky asked.

"I'm not sure." Steve shook his head, gazing down at Tony's sleeping face. 

Removing his cap, Buck ran a hand back through his hair. "Should we call for a doctor?"

"I don't know." Steve let out a breath abruptly and shook his head. "No. Let's let him sleep. It might be… Shock, maybe. My bum heart affecting us both, or something." 

He felt the weight of his friends gaze on him. "Your wrist was blank when I left a few months ago. Those names are supposed to appear when your soulmate’s born."

Steve's laugh was hollow. "It was blank up until a few hours ago. No, I don't understand either," he added when Bucky started to speak.

Then he snapped back to reality and realized again that Bucky was here. He had returned from boot camp. "Hey," Steve stepped forward and took Bucky into a hug. "Welcome back, pal. Sorry about the cold reception."  
Bucky grinned his handsome, sidelong smile. "It's good to be back, Stevie. Life with you is never boring."

 

 

****

 

Tony woke, feeling better rested since sometime back in his twenties.

That was unusual, considering he was dying.

His back hurt with a strange disconnected feeling that he instinctively knew wasn’t come from his own muscles.

 _Correction_ , he thought. _My back is fine. Steve's back is hurting._

He glanced over to the right — he knew where Steve was without thought. Sure enough, Steve had pulled up a chair and was leaning forward, pillowing his head on his arms against the edge of the couch Tony was laying on. It was sweet, but Tony could also tell it was knotting up his back.

Moving carefully so as not to wake him, Tony pushed his blanket back — when had he gotten to the couch, anyway? — And scooped Steve up into his arms. Steve mumbled something, barely half-asleep, but relaxed when Tony shushed him.  
Gently, Tony laid him down on the couch and recovered him with the blanket. Then he straightened, gazing down at his soulmate.

"Well isn't that the picture?"

The voice was spoken low but startled Tony anyway. He twisted around to see a man about Steve's age standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was handsome in a classical way; Brown hair and a strong chin with the cleft in it. Leaning against the wall, he looked completely unimpressed with Tony.

Tony glanced swiftly back at Steve and made a decision. He padded across the floor and gestured to the kitchen so their conversation would not be overheard. "Who are you? Roommate? Milk delivery man?"

"Call me Bucky. Steve's best friend," he sneered. "We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Tony Stark." 

Bucky nodded, though the name Stark clearly didn't ring any bells. Then, irritatingly, he reached as if to touch the side of Tony's neck. "What's with the fancy linework?"  
Tony covered the palladium marks with his hand. "Classified."

If anything, Bucky looked even more unimpressed. "Well, I'm in the Army. 107th infantry regiment."

Tony was no history buff, but if Howard's stories were true and he had landed in the year he suspected he was, Bucky's unit was about two go through hell. He only hoped this kid was one of the lucky three hundred that ended up saved by Captain America.  
And that realization was all the reminder Tony needed that he couldn't stand around here playing house. "Listen, it was fun meeting you—Ducky, wasn’t it? No, _Bucky_.— but I have things to do—"

Bucky's face darkened. "No you listen, Steve's gone through enough in his life without his own soulmate abandoning him on top of everything else. I don't care if his back is out of whack, and he has a bum heart —"

Tony's own heart dropped at hearing that. "This isn't about him."

"Bull!"

  
Tony was brutally honest with himself and he had always been an impulsive bastard. Then again, a lot of people underestimated shock value. “Let me paint a picture for you.” Then he lifted up the hem of his shirt to show off the arc reactor in all its glory.  
Bucky took a step back, his eyes going wide. 

Tony gestured to the puffy, irritated skin around the reactor and the blue lines growing out from it. "This is blood poisoning, which means I'm a dead man walking.” It was the first time he had admitted that out loud, even to himself. “You seem to care about your friend, but us meeting like this, now, is a joke on behalf of the universe. When I die, I'm going to drag Steve down with me."

  
His voice was bitter. After soulmate bonding, when one half died, the other quickly followed. He was already starting to feel Steve’s pains as his own. That was not a good sign.

Bucky shock turned to grim understanding. Then he shook his head. "Well, maybe you two are made for each other. Doctors have been telling Steve he was as good as dead since the age of four." Then, to Tony's surprise Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe you ought learn a thing or two from Steve about surviving the odds before you up and leave."

It was rare Tony was at a loss for words.

Right on cue, Tony felt a disconnected flare of discomfort from Steve as he regained consciousness and registered the pain in his back.

"Tony?" he called from the other room.

Bucky, grinning now, called back, "He's in here and he's got a thing or two to tell you." He looked at Tony. "Stubborn doesn't even begin to describe Steve. You just try to break up with him. I'll watch." Then he suited action to words and took a seat at the tiny dining room table and settled in, opening up a newspaper.

Tony could run. Hell, he could call his armor right now and fly away — timeline be damned it wasn't like anyone would believe a wild story from two twenty-something nobodies. But all intention of leaving vanished when Steve walked in.  
His blond hair was mussed. He looked pale and worried, and Tony hated himself for making him feel that way. He wanted to reach out to him, wanted to drag Steve back to the couch or find out if this minuscule apartment had a private bedroom.  
But he couldn't… he couldn't.

Steve glanced between Tony and Bucky. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.

"Getting to know Buckaroo, here…" Tony trailed off as he caught a shockingly familiar face on the front page of Bucky's newspaper. Without thinking, he strode over and jerked it away to read the article.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" Bucky demanded.

Tony didn’t reply. Could only stare. His father was on the front page standing in front of his old hover car. It was an advertisement for the World's Fair.  
Howard wasn’t in Los Alamos. His lab was here.

A lab Tony could use to get home.

 ****

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Tony can't keep a secret to save his life.
> 
> (Also, pre-WS!Bucky is such a shit. I love that guy.)


End file.
